


At the End and Beginning of Things.

by TravelDustedShoes



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelDustedShoes/pseuds/TravelDustedShoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the days immediately following Malcolm's 'resignation', Sam tries to make sense of the situation she's found herself in while trying to work with her former boss (and one might even say...friend?) to keep him out of prison. Her loyalties remain with Malcolm, but at what cost?  All good things must come to an end, but that doesn't necessarily mean that there aren't new beginnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You have 12 new messages

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I was startled at how many of you read my fic. Thank you :) 
> 
> This is the one I've been having a hard time trying to write. I'm always open to suggestions, and if any of you would be willing to spare the time to beta that would be awesome. 
> 
> I'm also influenced a bit by the RP blogs on Tumblr for Sam and Malcolm (which are amazing). But this story has been brewing in my brain before I found Tumblr, so I'm going to just give this baby legs and let her go. 
> 
> Heads up: I've decided to give Malcolm's sister and mother names that I think fit, but I can't find anything canon on them so if I'm wrong please let me know. 
> 
> Cheers!

At the precise moment that Malcolm Tucker “tendered” his resignation in front of the nation’s media, Sam Cassidy found herself on the Northern Line bound for Clapham North. 

The gentle sway of the train was lulling her into sleep; a position she couldn’t afford to be in. Not only was the difference between Kennington and her stop just a matter of minutes, but the best was yet to come. If she was going to be of any use to Malcolm she needed her wits about her. 

If. That was the big question. It wasn’t a case of if she would be loyal to Malcolm - the past three years was proof in the pudding so to speak - but if he would let her be loyal. An option available to him was to make her redundant, thereby releasing her from obligation, but at the same time leaving her open to a writ of summons. However, the last thing he needed was her under oath. 

It was like playing chess. Not only did she have to calculate her moves, but those of Malcolm, Ollie (and the party), the media, and the law. Her brow furrowed as she tried to plot the moves. 

“Every furrow is a burrow for your face, love.” A little old lady across from her said. A few faces peered out from their papers to look at the woman who spoke. No one speaks to strangers on the tube. 

Sam just smiled back politely. She was too tired to engage. 

“Approaching: Stockwell Station. Alight here for: the Victoria line. Next stop: Clapham North. This is the Northern Line heading to: South Wimbledon and Morden. Please mind the gap between train and platform.”

 _“Bugger all. Stockwell already?”_ Sam thought.

It would only be a matter of time before all hell broke loose. She casually pulled her mobile (not the work one) out of her satchel and looked at the screen. ‘T-Mobile. No signal.’ Malcolm always gave her shit for dealing with T-Mobile, but they’d been reliable for her so she felt no need to jump ship. At this moment she had never been so grateful for their unreliable service in the tube. A mobile with no service meant peace. For the moment. 

Sam wasn’t even acknowledging her work mobile. It wouldn’t be long until that would have to be turned in. Even now, she could sense that the screen now read “Property of Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition” and was remotely locked. 

“Approaching: Clapham North. Next Stop: Clapham Common. This is the Northern Line heading to: South Wimbledon and Morden. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”

She prepared herself to leave the train. The old lady flashed her a quick smile, and Sam nodded back. The suits with papers remained in place. As the doors opened she stepped quickly and quietly onto the platform and joined the throng of people heading for the street above. The anonymity of the crowd, with all their sounds and problems being spoken over mobiles, still shielded her from the forthcoming onslaught. 

It didn’t take T-Mobile long to find her signal though. She hadn’t even finished the stairs when her mobile started to shudder with the frantic convulsions of a device on vibrate being ambushed. It was now or never. Pulling away from the crowd she found a bus stop bench and looked at her phone.

**You have 12 New Messages. One new voicemail.**

“Jesus Christ.” Sam muttered. 

She swiped her iPhone and keyed in the password. Only one message was voice mail, thank god. A reprieve - of sorts. She wasn’t too far from her flat, but since she was here and the brisk wind was keeping her alert, the bench would have to do. The next bus wouldn’t be along for at least ten minutes anyway. 

**Messages:**

**Ollie Reeder:**  
Sam? Sam, where are you? I, um, need to speak to you. ASAP. If you could. Ta. Ollie.  
Sam? Um, ok. I just want you to know that you’re an invaluable resource to the party and we’d be glad to have you with us. Ollie. 

 

Sam rolled her eyes. Nope. She was not staying on as his PA. Never. Ever. 

 

 **Nicola M**  
Sam, luv? No need to respond immediately. Just let me know things are ok. Right? Nicola x

No way. Not setting foot into that trap. 

**Terri C**  
Sam? It was good to see you the other day. If and/or when this all blows over I’d like to meet up for a cuppa? Ta. x

And so it went, with all the usual suspects; Helen, Robyn, even Julius - though god knows why - and so on and so forth. Then there were the last four texts. 

**Jamie M**  
Sam. I don’t know why I even still have your fuckin number, but call me yeah? You can’t sort that fucker out on your own, and I’d hate to see your pretty brains splattered all over fuckin’ Clapham (unless you’ve moved, Jesus fuckin Christ tell me you’ve moved) just because you had an aneurysm trying to deal with that old cock’s shite. But call me, right? Ta x.

 **Malc**  
Sam. Go home. Stay there. Don’t say a fuckin word. And don’t come over to my place. I’m not about to pop my fuckin head off just because some cockswallowers want to see my head on a spike at Tower Bridge. 

**Malc**  
I’m sorry. Malc. x

 

Rare was the apology from Malcolm Tucker, and Sam could sense that this ‘sorry’ had several layers. The furrow in her brow was back. Last but not least there was the last text, which blew her away. 

**Hannah T.**  
Go to him. He’s going to say stay where you are, but we’re worried. Watch the news, look into his eyes. They’re dead. He’s not answering me or mum. But he won’t say no to you. Go to him. Please. Hannah x

Immediately Sam looked to her voice mails and sure enough the number was one that she recognized as an exchange from Glasgow. She dialed in. 

....“Hello? Sam? This is Grace. I’m sorry tae bother ye dearie, but I’m no’ able to reach Malcolm. I’m sure Hannah has reached ye already, and I just had tae call and put me two cents in. I need ye tae look after me boy Sam. Like ye always do. Ta luv.”

Hearing Grace Tucker’s frail voice over her mobile was the breaking point. All the anxiety, worry, and exhaustion that had been damned up burst. Sam collapsed into her hands and started to cry.


	2. Repercussions and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes to a startling conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading Ch. 1! 
> 
> Comments are always welcome, especially con-crit.

It took a moment for Sam to come to her right mind. Brushing the tears from her face, she tossed her mobile back into her bag. There would be time later to deal with everything and everyone, but if there was anything she had learnt in the past ten years it was to a) take events in stride, and b) take time for yourself. Malcolm, Jamie, and the rest would be there in the morning. All she wanted now was a warm shower, a cup of tea, and some telly. 

The distance from the tube station to her flat was a steady walk of about 15 minutes. Usually she enjoyed it; the smells of various restaurants and chippies, noises from the pubs, it was a world away from Westminster. Today it was a mere buzzing in her ears. Her mind was too full still playing mental chess. Every possible plan had to be made, and buried in plotting she found herself on the front step of her building before she could recount how she got there. Not that it mattered, she was home and that in itself was a blessing. 

Her keys were tossed into the bowl on the hall table, and she started to pull the neat twist out of her hair. The sensible pumps were kicked off and she was just about to start stripping down on her way to the bedroom when she heard the vibration of her mobile. She paused, waiting to see if the pattern was a text or call. It was a call. She rushed back to her bag to answer but caught herself midway. 

_No. It can wait. They can just goddamn wait._

Sam finished disrobing in her room, sunk herself into her oversized plush robe - a frivolous luxury purchase, but damn it was worth it - and made her way to the bathroom. In her years of living alone she had rented some dubious flats, but a couple years ago she had managed to find this building with it’s more...updated features. The only good thing Malcolm had to say of it was that at least it had hot water, unlike her previous place which could manage lukewarm at best. Sam relished the heat that her shower could throw out and in a matter of minutes she was enveloped in steam and spray. 

But the thoughts didn’t go away. They kept churning over and over in her mind. 

First was finances. She should be good there. One of her many arguments with Malcolm and Jamie over the years was the fact that she chose to live in Clapham. Her side was that it was economical and with her position it allowed her to save up. She finally shut Malcolm up one day, a few months ago, when she brought up her savings and investments on her bank app and shoved it in his face. The balance was enough to ensure that she could continue in her current lifestyle for a little over a year. One year. Unemployed. 

Sam smiled a bit. It meant that she could do whatever she wanted to tomorrow morning. Within reason. 

Second was Malcolm himself. There would be a lot that had to be done. He was a smart man, so his first call in the morning would be to his solicitor. Next, he would have have to recall and round up every scrap of information he possibly could. Sam wasn’t sure how she would fit in to that mess. There was a lot of information tucked away in her brain, but nothing conclusive. Perjury is a hard conviction without hard facts, and everything brought up in the inquiry was fuzzy at best. She was confident that he could clear his name, but Malcolm Tucker could also be his own worst enemy at times, and he needed to be checked. She would have to make her appearance soon. And before anyone else (namely the police and the crown prosecution) got a hold of her first. 

Third was Jamie’s text. She knew that he still had her number, because she hadn’t changed her personal number since third year of uni. However, she hadn’t heard from him in over a year. After he had left Number 10, Jamie still occasionally contacted her - using Sam as a go-between because he didn’t want to be bothered talking to Malcolm - to find out how things were going. Once the frostiness of that parting wore away, she discovered that Malcolm and Jamie were casually communicating and all texts to her stopped. The fact that Jamie would text her to offer help was terrifying and assuring all at the same time. In sorting out her priorities, Sam thought that responding to Jamie should be her first.

Last, but not least, were Hannah and Grace. The pleas for her help were genuine. Surely they knew Malcolm would never do anything rash, but she hadn’t seen any of the media reports yet (mainly because she wasn’t sure if she could take it), and if what they saw was enough to cause concern then perhaps there was something genuinely wrong. She had never met Grace in person, but over the years they had developed a sort of telephone relationship in where Sam would be honest about how her boy was doing. In return, Grace would provide advice on how to deal with Malcolm in the surliest of moods. Hannah Tucker-MacDowell was essentially a more refined, more polite, less sweary version of Malcolm. And possibly the only person on the planet who could tell him to shut up and he’d listen. Sam had met her a few times over the years and again developed a relationship in where she would trade news about Malcolm in exchange for information. These ladies knew the work he did could slowly kill him, and usually accepted that fact, so their sincere worry deeply bothered her. 

Over and over. Analyzed upside-down, sideways, and across. Every word of every text reviewed and scrutinized. Every memo she typed, every photo op she arranged, every email she sent in the last six months played in her mind. She wasn’t even aware the hot water was dwindling until a cold blast sent chills down her back. Quickly turning off the tap she stepped out, toweled down, and slipped back into her robe. 

Rather than crawling into her sweatpants and t-shirt immediately, Sam walked into to her living room and laid down on the sofa. She took a moment to just listen to the hum of traffic, and to the sounds of various telly stations through the walls. She thought for a brief moment she could hear a neighbour listening to Sky News, and could hear something about “Westminster”. Sam very much wanted to delay the inevitable, but her curiosity got the better of her in the end. She reached for the remote and changed the channel to match her neighbour.

There he was; ashen, gaunt, and defeated. His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed, and vacant. Malcolm Tucker stood before the nation’s press a hollow husk of a man, and for the first time in Sam’s recollection he looked...old. 

It was all she could do to suppress the sob. 

That very moment, her mobile shuddered to life again. Never had she wanted so badly to throw it into the Thames. 

“Oh fuck off!” She shouted, but the damn thing kept vibrating. Getting off the sofa, she rushed over to her bag to grab it and turn it off once and for all, but noticed that the number was her mum’s. 

“Hello?” Sam answered tentatively. 

“Sam? Oh thank goodness. I’ve been trying to reach you for nearly an hour. How are you love?”

“Fine.”

“No you’re not. I can tell from your voice. I saw the news.”

“So has everyone in the UK mum.” Sam snapped back. 

“No need to take that tone with me.”

“Sorry. Mum, can we talk later? I’m dead shattered.”

“Will you be alright?”

“Yes mum.”

There was a beat. 

“Are you going to help him?”

Oh god. Again? “And if I do?”

“Sam, you have wasted so many years-” 

“I’m not having this out again. You know where I stand.”

“I don’t understand why you have this...this...absurd loyalty to him. If you were sleeping with him maybe I could-”

“MUM! Is it possible, just remotely possible that two human beings can have a perfectly normal working relationship that is based on trust, respect, and loyalty?”

“Yes. But only if you’ll admit that yours is NOT a normal working relationship. Normal would imply that at some point you would have moved on. Moved up. Instead he keeps you attached to him. Like Dracula. It's creepy.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “He does not keep me attached to him. I stay because I want to.”

“Then why do you want to?”

Sam had to think about that. There really was nothing stopping her from just walking away this time. “Because...because he’s my friend. There. I’ve said it. My loyalties are not just because he gave me the job. My loyalty isn’t even to the job. It’s to him. Personally.”

There was another pause. 

“Alright then. Be careful where you make your stand Samantha. You’re gambling with a lot more than your career this time.” Her mother hung up. 

And there was the ugly truth that had been gnawing at her brain all day. This time there was no chance of just watching or helping on the sidelines. Whatever decision she makes about her future involvement with Malcolm Tucker is going to have serious repercussions and consequences.


End file.
